


Words in the night

by SmellyKelo



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, M/M, Nighttime conversations, Roger/Rafa and Sascha/Domi are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmellyKelo/pseuds/SmellyKelo
Summary: Sascha is depressed after his loss at Stuttgart 2019 and his horrible season until that time in general. Rafa tries to comfort him. In their conversations they relive their pasts.
Relationships: Dominic Thiem/Alexander Zverev, Rafael Nadal & Alexander Zverev, Rafael Nadal/María Francisca Perello, Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Words in the night

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set after Sascha's loss in the second round of ATP Stuttgart 2019. I started writing this fic during that time, but then lost the draft and could not pick up from where I left off. Recently I have had some sudden inspiration to complete it, so here it is. Please forgive if you notice inconsistencies or sudden breaks in the plot, for it is difficult to complete anything coherently after a gap of about a year.
> 
> The usual disclaimer: The persons are real, the events are products of my imagination.
> 
> Now enjoy! And please give kudos and comments.

As Rafa is brushing his teeth after dinner, his phone buzzes. It is a message from Sascha. Sascha! What can he possibly want from Rafa now? He does not generally send Rafa messages on phone either, unless it is something very urgent. He likes Whatsapp more.

He opens the message. It contains only six words: _Can you come see me now?_

 _Where?_ Sascha must have become crazy. He is supposed to be in Stuttgart, whereas Rafa is in Monte Carlo. He was not supposed to be in Monte Carlo, but three days ago he had a sudden whim to visit the place where only weeks ago he had played the worst match of his life. He asked Mery to accompany him. He did not give her the actual reason. She complied. His mother was surprised at the sudden decision, but did not say anything. Maribel had wished to accompany them – “Monte Carlo is a nice place for visit and shopping,” she had said, but Rafa refused. “Only Mery and me,” he said. “Have fun,” she winked. Rafa shook his head at that. “I need a break from you,” he replied. And they have been in Monte Carlo for three days. He and Mery have mostly stayed indoors, relaxing, watching television, listening to music, reading. Rafa has been thinking of returning the next day, though he is not certain. In fact, it was regarding this uncertainty on his part that he and Mery had a small disagreement earlier in the day.

“I don’t understand what we are doing here.” Mery had commented in the afternoon, sitting in the balcony with a book. Her voice was expressionless, which meant she was a bit vexed.

“Relaxing?” Rafa tried to pass the whole trouble off with a joke. That was not to be.

“I only wanted to understand what your plan is. You never told me anything.” Mery was more straightforward this time.

“Ah – I – there is no plan. I mean, the plan was to rest and relax and -”

“Rafael.” Mery interrupted, her voice still low. Also, she had used his full name, which she generally does not do. “You without a plan is not believable.”

“I told you the truth, if you prefer not to believe me -” Rafa left the balcony. He spent the whole evening in the bedroom, lying down and listening to music. By dinnertime he and Mery had returned to speaking terms, but both were being excessively polite.

Rafa was thinking about all this when Sascha’s message arrived.

 _Where are you?_ Rafa types the reply.

Sascha writes back immediately: _Just outside your door._

 _What!_ Rafa cannot understand. Staring at Sascha’s message, he walks into the living room. Mery is on the sofa, watching television. He sits down beside her. At the moment it is showing a tourism advertisement in French. “What are you watching?” he asks.

“Football,” Mery replies. “Highlights of the Champions League final.”

“Hm. Liverpool won,” Rafa says, not knowing how to tell her about Sascha’s message.

“Of course Real Madrid cannot win every year.” Mery still keeps her eyes on the television.

Rafa scratches his head. Mery is trying to appear most interested in the highlights of the most boring Champions League final that Rafa has ever seen. But her back is straight and her neck is stiff, meaning she is waiting for Rafa to speak first. But he has no idea how to proceed. He sits silent, and realises that some music is playing in the room in a low volume. Must be on Mery’s phone. Rafa cannot recognise the singer, though he is certain that he must have heard him some time. However, the lyrics are beautiful.

_Calma  
Todo está en calma  
Deja que el beso dure  
Deja que el tiempo cure  
Deja que el alma tenga la misma edad  
Que la edad del cielo…_

The words put in his mind his mother. She is the sort of person who could say such things. _Keep your head!_ That is his mother’s voice in his head. Always try to understand the other person’s feelings before you react – that is her philosophy. And the best way to solve an argument is to start by saying sorry. That is his mother’s advice too. He does just that. “Well, I am sorry about earlier -”

“No, I am sorry -”

“It was stupid of me -”

Rafa and Mery both try to speak at the same time. They stop in the middle of their sentences. Rafa puts an arm around her. “I am sorry. If you are thinking that I never tell you anything, then I must have given you cause for grief.”

Mery rests her head on his chest. “What I said was not nice.”

“Forget it.” Rafa squeezes her shoulder. “You see, I just wanted the two of us to spend two or three days together, relaxing. And Monte Carlo is good for shopping also, so I thought -”

“That is why I said let us take Maribel!” Mery interrupts. “How can I go shopping without Maribel? You are useless in that regard. But you said let us go alone.”

“Well, relaxing is better than shopping, no? I wanted to give my legs some rest.” Rafa smirks. This is just meaningless banter; what they have been doing for the last three days. Rafa is glad they are back to that state. _But what to do about the matter with Sascha?_

Mery sits up and turns her head to face him. “Something is the matter?”

Rafa is always amazed by the fact that she can see right through him every time, even if he keeps his features as neutral as possible. He has known this prowess of her forever, yet whenever she exhibits it, Rafa gets startled. “Well,” he replies, “Sascha says he is outside.”

“Zverev?” Mery asks.

“Yes.” _How many Saschas do they know!_

“Invite him in, then.” She turns her attention back to the highlights.

“Actually, he wants -”

‘You to go to him?” Mery cuts in.

“Yes,” replies Rafa. “But what I cannot understand is how he is here. He should be in Stuttgart, no?”

“He lost,” Mery replies, her eyes fixed on the match.

“Oh. I am sorry for him.” That boy has been experiencing disappointment at almost every tournament. Rafa knows how that feels.

“You did not know?” Mery asks.

“What? That he lost? Of course not! Or why would I ask you? I thought he would win Stuttgart!” Rafa exclaims. “A win would have meant a lot to him at the moment.”

Mery looks at Rafa and grimaces. “I know.”

They both remain silent for some moments. Rafa muses on how Sascha could know where Mery and he are staying. During their stay here they did not go outside much. They avoided cameras as much as possible. Of course no one would have expected him to be in Monte Carlo now, which again brings him to the question -

“I wonder how Sascha knows we are here,” Rafa thinks aloud.

“Probably some fan took photos of us,” Mery tries to deduce. “Anyway, you should go see him. Also he is the only one who can tell you how he got the information.”

“I will return as soon as possible.” Rafa gets up from the sofa. “Don’t stay up late for me. I am taking the keys. By the way,” he turns around as he is at the door, “who is the singer?”

“Jorge Drexler. You did not recognise the voice?” Mery raises her eyebrows.

 _Of course!_ Rafa makes a face. “I could not recall the name! Anyway, good night.”

***********

Rafa finds Sascha standing in front of the door, wearing black trousers and a dark coat, but his hair is recognisable from some distance. It is as wild as ever, or perhaps wilder. As Rafa approaches him he discovers that his eyes are red. _Does he have a fever? Was he crying?_ However, he smiles when he sees Rafa approach him.

“Hola! How are you?” Rafa refrains from saying ‘Buenas noches’, as he had learnt the hard way that in most parts of the world ‘good night’ is only a greeting of parting in the evening.

“I am glad you have come out to see me,” says Sascha. “If you don’t mind, will you come to my place with me? Just for a while,” he adds, seeing the look of unease on Rafa’s face. “This is important.”

“Of course, Sascha. Whatever help you need,” replies Rafa.

“It is close,” Sascha informs. “We will walk.”

Sascha does not utter another word until they reach the house.

“Your parents – are they -” Rafa starts hesitantly as Sascha opens the door.

“They are not here with me,” replies Sascha. “You know, my father is unwell…He had a checkup today. They will come tomorrow.”

“I am sorry about your father. Hope he gets well soon,” says Rafa. Of course, he knows that Sascha’s concern is not just the illness of his father. He has split from his management team – that is not a problem, people and their teams split all the time – it is quite common, unless it is all in the family – but there is some legal dispute involved. Sascha’s tour life is in shambles, and apparently, his confidence also.

“We will sit in the drawing room,” Sascha says, ushering Rafa into the hallway and shutting the front door.

“Where is your dog?” asks Rafa, taking off his shoes.

“Oh, I forgot you are afraid of dogs,” Sascha smiles.

“Only large dogs,” Rafa corrects him. “Small dogs are okay. And your dog is like a toy. I only ask if he is sleeping.”

“He is,” replies Sascha, walking into the drawing room with Rafa behind him. “Sorry about the mess,” he adds, as Rafa’s eyes fall on the coffee table on which are a medium-sized bottle and a glass.

“You were drinking?” exclaims Rafa. Despite his best effort, the words come out a bit admonishing.

“I know you are against drinking during a tournament,” Sascha says guiltily. “Only, I am just out of a tournament -” 

“I not – don’t judge you,” Rafa says hastily. “I am sure you know what you should not do.”

Sascha turns around so suddenly that Rafa almost walks into him. “I always do things that I know I should _not_ do. Like, bringing you here so late at night. Don’t you want to know how I knew you are in Monte Carlo?” There is a weird smile on Sascha’s lips.

Rafa shrugs. “If you want to tell me, you will tell me sure. I like to know more why you bring me here.”

Sascha’s smile broadens. “Perhaps to get you on your own, to seduce you.”

Rafa raises an eyebrow. “You joking, or flirting?”

“Don’t you understand?” Sascha leans in closer, so that their faces are inches apart.

Rafa does not move. “With you, is difficult to understand.”

Sascha’s face falls. “May be that is why everything is a mess!” He throws himself down on the sofa with a sigh.

“Was just a joke, Sascha! Just a joke!” Rafa exclaims, sitting down beside Sascha and putting an arm around him. “What happened?”

“You know, I went to watch the final. Yes, at Roland Garros,” Sascha says, answering Rafa’s unasked question.

“I not know -”

“You won’t; I went incognito. Did not sit in the players’ box or anything.”

“Thank you for coming to watch the match,” says Rafa.

“ _You_ don’t need to thank me,” says Sascha, pursing his lips. “I went to see Dominic.”

“Still, thank you,” Rafa says politely. “Is normal that you go to watch your friend.”

“You know, I hate your diplomacy,” Sascha says petulantly.

“Is not diplomacy,” Rafa responds. “I honestly thank you.” He waits for Sascha to speak. Instead, Sascha starts to cry.

“Sascha, what – qué te pasa?” Rafa exclaims as Sascha buries his head in Rafa’s chest and sobs.

“Sascha! What happened? Sascha! I know losses hurt, but no need to cry, you do better next time…” Sascha only cries harder. “Alexander! I am here. I listen. Dime. Alejandro!”

Sascha raises his head at the Spanish version of his name. His eyes are filled with tears, his cheeks are tear-stained. “How do you do it, Rafa? How?” He implores.

“How I do what?” Rafa does not understand what he is missing.

“How do you forget? And forgive? How do you live?” Sascha clutches Rafa’s right hand.

 _Oh!_ Rafa raises his left hand to his heart. He does not want to talk about _him_ , not here, not tonight, it is too much, but – Sascha is crying, he is so young, he is hurt… “Dominic say something?” He asks cautiously.

“He says nothing! Only forget! He said so much, and now he says forget!” Sascha starts to cry again. “Did _he_ say the same to you?”

Although neither of them says the name, Rafa knows who Sascha implies. How can he say what _he_ had said to him last year? _I don’t think this can continue, Rafael_. He had used the full name. And then a few months ago: _I think about you so much all the time that I start talking about you even when no one asks_. The first feeling Rafa experienced on hearing those words was anger. _Please don’t say things like this no more. Cannot happen. We are friends. Will be friends always. Nothing more_. He had replied coldly although his heart bled inside him.

Instead of answering, Rafa asks another question. “You met Dominic after the match? Not in the locker rooms I suppose, because those are for players only and you were incognito…”

“I went where he was staying,” replies Sascha. “They were going out – Kiki was giving a dinner for her win. Their families were going together…He talked with me outside the house. Did not even let me in!”

Rafa is surprised. Dominic is a nice boy, very polite and well mannered. It would have been natural for him to invite Sascha to the dinner. Unless something was very wrong. He asks, knowing he would better not, but then this whole conversation should not have been happening either, “You two had a quarrel?”

“No!” exclaims Sascha. “No quarrel. He did not even let me say anything!”

Rafa shakes his head. “You misunderstand me. I mean you had a quarrel before?”

“Not quarrel, no.” Sascha lowers his head and falls silent, frowning. Then he looks up. “I will tell you. You know my troubles with my agent – what am I talking about! Everybody knows of my troubles. The thing is, I have too much on my plate. Agent troubles, then my father’s illness – you know about that. And then, my girlfriend has left me.”

 _Which one?_ Rafa was almost on the verge of saying, but controls himself; it would have been unkind. He has no desire to hear about Sascha’s past girlfriends, but probably everything is related. So he asks patiently, “When?”

“In the midst of all these problems,” Sascha answers.

“Then – you not think is better that the relation is over? May be she was not the best person for you. No need to cry about her,” Rafa opines.

“I am crying about Dominic,” Sascha responds curtly. “He was always so good to me – he said he loved me! – And now he does not love me anymore.”

That is somewhat difficult to believe. It is common knowledge that Dominic and Sascha are great friends – they grew up together. And everyone with eyes can see that Dominic is very fond of Sascha. _Surely Sascha is exaggerating!_ So Rafa asks, “He say he not love you anymore?”

“Not directly, no. But you can always understand when a person who used to love you has stopped loving you,” Sascha replies. “At least _you_ should know that!” His voice rises, and he stands up.

 _Again_. How can Rafa avoid talking about _him_ when Sascha is intent on making him talk! “Come here,” he instructs. “Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Sascha looks a bit ashamed for his outburst as he sits down beside Rafa. “When I went to see Domi, he did not let me in. He came outside, and asked me what the matter was. I told him I had come to congratulate him, and he asked what for. Of course about the final! Why did he ask me that?” Sascha pauses and looks at Rafa, as if asking a question. When Rafa says nothing he continues, “So I told him that, and he said he had not won, so I had better congratulate _you_. I told him he did so well, and I am proud of him, and I love him, always loved him. He looked uncomfortable, said is this the time, and I said yes this is the best time, and anyway he knows all that already, so what is the problem. And he said, I quote verbatim, ‘Forget it, Sascha. Forget it. It does not exist.’ Can you imagine that!” Sascha looks like he is going to start crying again.

Rafa can imagine _that_. Someone had said similar things to him some time ago. What he cannot imagine is Dominic saying something like that. He seems like he cannot hurt anybody. Perhaps looks _are_ deceptive, as they say. Or what is more likely is that Dominic has been honest. Maybe he has changed. He tries saying just that. “People change, you know.”

“I don’t,” Sascha utters firmly.

“Then you should,” Rafa responds.

“Like you have?” Sascha throws back.

“Yes,” Rafa replies firmly. “If you don’t change you get hurt. Is survival strategy.”

“You know what Dominic told me once, _on the record_?” Sascha stresses the last part of the question.

“No…what?” Rafa asks. “And what you mean - on the record?”

“We were in Acapulco, for an exhibition match.” Sascha’s face turns dreamy. “Such a beautiful place, where the sea meets the mountains…What am I rambling about - of course you know the place better than me. We had a helicopter ride, and then we played, and after that Domi said on microphone that the scene was beautiful, but for him the more beautiful scene was me across the net. He said that, it is recorded. Doesn’t it appear to you as a declaration of love?”

Rafa sighs. He did not know this incident. “Maybe he signified friendship?” He suggests.

“You were not there, Rafa. You did not hear his voice or see his face. _I_ was there. I know.” Sascha’s cheeks turns red.

Rafa has to agree. “Would be better if he not say that then.” So much misunderstanding! Or maybe it was true at that time. “Or maybe he loved you at that time. Like I said, people change.”

“I don’t like all this change,” Sascha sounds tearful. “We grew up together while we trained…He loved me then. He said so many times that he loved me. And it was not just saying things; you could see his love in all his actions, in all his behaviour towards me. We were inseparable.” A tear rolls down Sascha’s cheek. “Why did it all have to change?”

“Maybe nothing changed,” Rafa tries to suggest. “May be he looked at your relation in a different way. He might have meant that he loved you like a brother.” _That would be more like Dominic_.

“You know nothing.” Sascha gives a short, bitter laugh. “We were lovers. There was no way to mistake it as something else.”

Rafa does not know how to respond without reliving his own memories and hurting himself in the process. He does not know how to tell Sascha anything without sounding bitter with suffering. He does not let himself suffer, not anymore, but now – what can be done? He feels tears in his own eyes as he says, “Then things have changed. You have to accept it. Sometime we _have_ to accept things we don’t want to accept. Sometimes we _have_ to choose differently.”

“Like you have done?” Sascha utters in a cutting voice. “Chosen the second best?”

“She is not second best,” Rafa mutters, trying to keep his anger down. _Keep your head! Keep your head!_ “She is _not_ second best,” Rafa repeats sternly. “ _You_ know nothing. We have been together forever. He never saw me on crutches. She saw that, more than once. She helped me. Encouraged me. He only had my best, and some bad. She had my worst. She is the best friend in the world. Why I not love her? Why I not want to spend my life with her? And anyway, why I am talking to you? If you have nothing better to say, mejor me voy. I leave.” He gets up.

“No, Rafa, please! I am sorry!” Sascha clutches his wrist. “My heart is broken to pieces, Rafa! Pieces. Please don’t leave me!” Sascha pleads.

Rafa sits down again. “Okay.” He pats Sascha’s back as Sascha cries himself to relative peace.

“I have been in love with him since I was fourteen, Rafa,” Sascha utters through his sobs. “I used to be afraid of thunder, like you. There was a storm – thunder and lightning – it was night and I could not sleep, and he came to check on me. When he saw how terrified I was, he got into bed with me and held me. I felt so safe in his arms – it is funny, really, I was already as tall as he was, but to my eyes he seemed so much bigger and older than me – larger than life…When I woke up in the morning he was still asleep, and he was so beautiful…You know how good he looks, but you have never seen him asleep, his face! I kissed him. That woke him. I was terrified that he would never speak to me again. Instead, he kissed me back.” Sascha pauses for breath, then continues, “We were so much in love! You tell me, when the person with whom you have been in love for ages tells you to forget everything, how does it feel?”

 _You have asked the right person_ , Rafa thinks bitterly. “It feels like you would die,” Rafa says the truth. “It feels you will never be happy again. But none of that is true. I am alive. I am happy. That type of pain has no end – the loss of the love of your life. But it will decrease with time. I know. Trust me.”

“It is so difficult to even live, Rafa!” Sascha wails. “He is in love with Kiki.”

Rafa sighs. Everything is coming up to the surface. “The year my parents divorced, he got married.” He does not know why he is telling Sascha this, or how it is going to help him. “I don’t say he did it on purpose, to hurt me, no. Just I was depressed – I lost in Paris…” It still hurts, whatever he may say otherwise. “I lost the family I knew, I lost the semifinal of the US Open – I lost everything, everywhere. And he married and had the daughters that year. I thought I would die. I was in hell – you won’t believe me now…” Rafa realises that his cheeks are wet.

“I believe you.” Sascha is crying too. “How did you get out of it? The depression?”

“By loving tennis. By believing myself. And forgiving him.” Rafa pauses. “Well, there was nothing to forgive. Only he and I looked at our relationship in different ways. I modified my view. I had to forgive myself, actually.”

“You think I need to forgive myself?” Sascha sounds indignant.

“No.” Rafa scratches his chin. _How to explain!_ “Everyone has distinct situation, yes? My situation is not similar with the situation of you and Dominic. I solved my troubles in my way. You have to discover – find – your way.”

Sascha sighs. “Things are so difficult…” His voice trails away.

“Things will become better. Trust me.” Rafa pats his arm. “I listen to you. Help you when you need help. Okay?”

“You are so kind, you know that?” Sascha looks into his eyes. “You are kind to everyone -”

“Not _everyone_ ,” Rafa tries to stop him.

But Sascha continues as if Rafa had not spoken. “You are kind, and nice, and you respect everyone irrespective of age or status or whatever other shit…He did not deserve you.”

“I – uh, that is not -” Rafa is at a loss for words. He does not wish to go into all that; it is a road that does not end well. “We not know who deserves what.”

“Always so diplomatic!” Sascha gives a crooked smile. “You are very clever, actually.”

Rafa smiles too. “You must decide what you going to think about me. But now is not the time for that, no?” He says the words before he realises who had said similar words to Sascha. He wants to beat himself.

“Is never the time – never!” Tears fall from Sascha’s eyes. “Never the time for this – never the time for that. Never the time for friendship, never the time for love. Never the time.”

Rafa pulls him close and embraces him. The boy would not say anything sensible tonight. He is dejected, and probably drunk. Sleep is the best medicine. “Come, you go to bed. Sleep, and you will feel better,” Rafa tells him.

Sascha mutters something in Russian. Rafa says, “I don’t know Russian, Sascha.”

“How do you know it’s Russian, not German?” Sascha asks.

“I know how people speak German,” Rafa replies, and his heart contracts. He had heard so many nice German words, muttered into his ears that made him fall in love…

“I’m sorry,” says Sascha, looking into his eyes. “It is a Russian proverb; it means ‘Go to bed, and you will wake up wiser in the morning’. You sounded like that.”

“Is nice proverb. Then go to sleep. I take you to bedroom, okay?”

Rafa stands up, and pulls Sascha up with him, who sways a little. He is taller, and the inches that he has on Rafa help neither of them as he leans heavily against Rafa. The bedroom is upstairs, and their progress up the stairs is extremely slow. At the end of a few minutes, they manage to reach the bedroom, and Rafa carefully seats Sascha on the bed. Sascha looks at Rafa without saying a word. Rafa bites his lip. _Surely Sascha can undress and lie down himself?_

Instead, Sascha simply closes his eyes and falls backward on the bed, his legs hanging.

“You won’t be able to sleep like this, Sascha!” Rafa utters gently. “Is not comfortable.”

“What?” Sascha mutters, without opening his eyes.

 _He is not being sensible_. Rafa does not expect that either. He lifts Sascha’s legs and arranges him properly on the bed, and puts a pillow under his head. After a moment’s hesitation, he removes Sascha’s shirt and unbuckles his belt, and pulls the sheet over him. Then he stands up and looks at Sascha’s face. He already appears asleep.

Rafa bends down to remove the locks of hair sticking to Sascha’s forehead, and it is then that Sascha opens his eyes and pulls Rafa’s hand. Rafa was unprepared for it, and has to throw out an arm to break his fall. He sits down on the bed, concerned. “What happen, Sascha?”

Sascha does not seem to listen. He extends his left arm and caresses Rafa’s cheek. “You are so nice. Nicer than him.”

Rafa knows who is being referred to. He does not know what to say. And he does not believe _that_. Imaginations of a drunk mind, that is all.

“Don’t go anywhere, please,” Sascha pleads.

“I – I will not go before you sleep,” Rafa responds in a voice he hopes is soothing.

“No, stay with me. Here.” Sascha’s words slur a little. “Love me.”

“¿Cómo?” Rafa is certain that he has misheard, or misunderstood.

“Love me like he loved me.” Sascha’s voice is broken, and his eyes are huge.

“I am not Dominic,” Rafa utters firmly.

“Love me like you loved him, then” Sascha says.

 _You are not him_ , Rafa wants to say. But it sounds exceptionally harsh. Sascha is in sorrow. No need to increase that feeling. “I cannot do that, Sascha,” he says instead.

“You don’t need to be in love with me to do that, do you?” Sascha responds.

“I need to be in love to do that – with anyone,” Rafa replies in a firm voice.

“I don’t need love! I need you.” Sascha tugs at Rafa’s hand.

“You will regret it!” Rafa tries to reason.

“Regret _you_?” Sascha sounds incredulous. “You are one of the best people I have met! Please hear me! I want you.”

“You think so, but you will regret it,” Rafa repeats. “The tour is a small world. You will not be sad and drunk forever. Then you will regret.”

Sascha stares into Rafa’s eyes for a few minutes, his fingers still entwined with Rafa’s. Then he looks away and cries. “Please stay the night with me? Please? Just lie with me and hold me? I can’t be alone. Not tonight.”

Rafa cannot ignore the imploring voice. He cannot promise to spend the night either; he had told Mery that he would return as soon as possible. He does not want to break his word. He only says, “Close your eyes, Sascha. Don’t cry. I am here.” _Oh yes, he is being diplomatic_.

He lies down beside Sascha who pulls his arm over his chest and holds it there. “Since that first time, he used to sneak into my room at night, whenever we were anywhere training together, or were in the same tournament. I would sleep like this, with his arm on me, and wake up like this, and kiss him. He liked it – he liked me – I loved him…Everybody knew we were great friends – we were, but nobody had any idea that we were lovers – hidden -”

“Clandestinos,” Rafa murmurs.

“The word sounds nice,” says Sascha. “Were you like that too?”

“We -” Rafa takes his time. “We were not like you. You and Dominic are friends from childhood. Por lo contrario, I first met him when I was older. The first time we played – was doubles, you know? – already he was number one in singles, and then we played singles in Miami…I could not speak after the match – very shy I was, and then there was language problem – you and Dominic never experienced it. After that match, I used to dream of him – don’t laugh, I had seventeen years – in my dreams we talked in Spanish.” Rafa himself laughs lightly remembering all that.

Sascha laughs a little also, his first genuine mirth of the night. “When did you speak finally?”

“He told me a lot of nice things when we played in Miami final the next year – he won, as you know. After the match he spoke to me – both in the court and in the locker room – I could not look at his face, only smiled and laughed like a fool, my mind was – I could not think - I was so – so – intoxicated by the sound of his voice and the scent of his body – you are probably laughing -” Rafa stops.

“No, Rafa.” Sascha presses Rafa’s hand. “I understand how you felt. I had similar feelings for Dominic, and I was younger than you, too.”

“Age is never a matter, no?” Rafa muses. “Anyway, we really – actually – spoke at the French Open. We had to do some promotional – for sponsors. We had to pose with rackets – he showed me how to stand, where to look…I loved his hands on my body… And I knew I was in love. He did not have any – _intention_ , you see – it was all in my head. I imagined that he too was in love with me.”

“Wasn’t he? I don’t know – don’t get me wrong – it always seemed to me -” Sascha does not complete the sentence, but Rafa gets the meaning.

“He was, but later. The next year he realised, I think. We used to go to the Dubai tournament – we played the final.” Rafa’s mind travels to the past. “I believe he understood my feelings there. And he -”

“Reciprocated?” Sascha utters before Rafa can finish.

“Ah – that I not know…” Rafa pauses to think. “He invited me to dinner. We laughed a lot. He was nice. I believe he enjoyed my company. Then we started to see each other a lot – we were playing so many matches, all tournaments we meet at some stage, then there were exhibitions…and when I finally won the Wimbledon, he looked happier than me! He almost kissed me.”

“Did he?” Sascha turns his head to look at Rafa.

“Kiss? No! Would be news!” Rafa exclaims.

Sascha snorts. “You misunderstand me. I asked did he almost kiss you?”

“It seemed like that. I felt he – he pulled my face towards him, so I closed my eyes, but then he patted my neck and let go. I was little disappointed.” Rafa laughs. “Not really – I just won Wimbledon, no? Was happy. That year was my happiest time, and Roger was so kind…I had to know such happiness was not for ever.” His voice breaks.

“Why do you say that?” Sascha whispers.

“The next year was my worst. You know all that. My parents divorce. I lose French Open. Washed out everywhere. Then he announces marriage and children. I was devastated. Should not have been like that – you see, you and Dominic were lovers, you say. We were nothing like that. I could not understand myself. There was Mery already – we were biggest friends since we were children, you know. I loved her, she loved me, but there was all this trouble…I knew I had to speak to Roger.” _Oh, he has uttered the name! It was inevitable, though_. “I thought, if I only speak to him, he solve all problems – you see, I considered him larger than life, like you considered Dominic.”

“You talked to him?” Sascha asks.

“I called him, yes. And told him that I love him. He was like ‘I know, we are great friends.’ So I had to correct him. And he was like ‘I never thought of you like that. What are you even talking about?’ It went that way.” Rafa smiles ruefully.

“But -” Sascha hesitates a bit, then continues, “But it always seemed to me that you were close even after 2009. I mean, you seemed even closer last two years, more than what you were before – of course, whatever I know of you from before is mostly from old pictures and videos, but -” Sascha cannot continue his rambling.

“That is because I could not stop how I felt!” Rafa exclaims. No one knows about this except Mery, and now Sascha does too. But all this is to help the kid… “I liked him even after what he said to me. I like him still. But things changed now.”

“How?” Sascha turns around completely, facing Rafa. “How did things change? How did you change? I need that advice.”

“After he got married I put myself on – on – autopilot!” Rafa is glad that he found the correct word. “You have to separate your heart from your mind – is survival strategy. I concentrated on tennis, forgot everything else. I focused to win back Roland Garros. And complete the career slam. Was my aim in 2010.”

“And you did both!” Sascha exclaims.

“All the time I was in love with him. I know I could not live away from him. So I concentrate to be friends. But when I say I love my biggest rival, is the truth.” Rafa stops for breath.

“Did he ever tell you that he loves you?” Sascha’s voice drops. “Or is it just a feeling?”

“He told me. The end of 2017. Okay, he almost said the words the year earlier, when he came to inaugurate the academy, but in the end did not say anything. Then in 2017 we were again playing a lot of matches – meeting each other in courts – playing finals of tournaments – so much like before!” Rafa’s voice turns dreamy. “Then Laver Cup. You were there, you must know…Well, it was there he confessed his feelings. I was in heaven. We were like before – no, better. It was from both sides – the love. But then -” Rafa stops. The next part is painful, and still quite close in time to be close to the surface of his mind.

Sascha seems to understand. He reaches out and holds Rafa’s hand.

Rafa inhales deeply. “Last year, in spring, while I was at home, recovering from the injury from Australian Open, he called me.” _I don’t think this can continue, Rafael_. Why does it still hurt so much? “Told me to forget everything. Still don’t know why. He never told me why. It broke my heart. To pieces, like you say. Una vez más.” He feels tears in his eyes. He closes his eyes to stop them from falling.

“I am so sorry, Rafa!” Sascha whispers.

“No, don’t be _sorry_. Anything else, but no feel sad for me. Sadness no – never helps you.” Rafa stops a bit and collects his thoughts. “There is more. This year, we were at Indian Wells – you remember the trouble about the Players’ Council, sure? He came to meet me – discuss about it. And there he says he thinks of me all the time! Just imagine! After what he said last year – after he gave so much pain!” Rafa’s voice rises. _It was intolerable!_

“What!” Sascha covers his mouth, his eyebrows rise in surprise. “He said that?”

“Yes. Perhaps he thought I will run back to him!” Rafa is still indignant about it. “I told him we will be friends. But nothing else is possible. What was finished, was finished. You see, once something is lost, is lost forever. I was in hell after I refused him. I was injured, withdraw from Indian Wells semifinal, missed Miami. When you recover from injury – there is nothing to do – I lived inside my head – my mind was in hell. So many feelings – could not distinguish one from other…was sad, angry, disgusted, depressed, and lots of other feelings. Thinking of him all the time – what could happen if I said yes. But I am not that worthless, yes? I have some self-respect.” Rafa simultaneously feels sorrow and rage to this day. But he stands by his decision.

Sascha takes his hand again. “I understand. But you are in a rightful position -”

“You are, too.” Rafa says before Sascha could say otherwise. “If he can forget, you too can forget. No, you _should_ forget. Focus on other things. Win a Slam – two Masters – the World Tour Finals! Think of things that are important to you.”

“He is important to me, too. You must understand that.” Sascha sounds a bit angry now.

“Be his friend, then!” Rafa shrugs. “What you want and what he wants are different – do something that you both want. I know, you now think is impossible, but trust me – I know -”

“I trust you. God sent you here so you could help me.” Sascha again sounds tearful.

Rafa smiles. “I not know about god, but am happy my words help you.”

“You don’t know how much you help people. Everybody I meet says so.” Sascha moves closer. “You should start a channel – become a motivational speaker.”

“You are joking.” Rafa snorts. “Those things are for young people like you. You live in the ‘virtual world’. I am old – I have real world.”

“You are not old, whatever you try to pretend.” Sascha places a hand on Rafa’s neck, and before Rafa can understand his intentions Sascha kisses him.

Rafa is stunned for a moment but remains still until Sascha moves away. Then he says gently, “Sleep, Sascha. Sleep, and you will wake up wiser.”

Sascha smiles, and swears probably in Russian, but closes his eyes. When his breathing has deepened and he appears peaceful in sleep, Rafa carefully gets up from the bed. He has to leave; he promised Mery. But what would Sascha think the next day? Would he be upset? Better to write down a few words for him, so that he would not feel dejected.

Rafa’s eyes fall on a notepad on the nightstand. On the first few pages are scribblings in Sascha’s hand, in German, Russian and English. He looks around. Underneath the lampshade is a glass with pens, a pencil and a whiteboard marker. He grabs a pen and sits down on the chair. _What to write, how to write_ …His English seems inadequate to him. _Spanish will do. Sascha could translate it_ – no problem.

_Alexander:_

_I am sorry to leave you here, like this. I would have stayed if I could, but I cannot. Forgive me._

_I don’t know if I have been of any help to you. I will always try to help you, but what I wish to say is this – only you can help yourself. Words can help you just that much; afterwards your happiness is up to you. Of course I am not suggesting that we can do anything we want. None of us can. Every person has their limits, and we have to work for our happiness within that. But whatever may happen, we cannot allow sorrow and depression to control our lives. I learnt it the hard way. Sorrow and depression almost destroyed my life once. I would want no one to suffer like that, least of all you. You are a brother to me, and future of our world – the game which has been my life forever. Whenever you suffer, remember that. Your life is not only your own, but it belongs to everybody who loves you and wishes for you._

_I tell you another thing I learnt. Your happiness should not depend on the actions of the person of your dreams – if they love you or not. Our lives are already controlled by our circumstances, irrespective of whether we like it or not. We are nothing but pulsations in the infinite sea of time – our lives are just moments. Our lives are too short to waste on sorrow. So, embrace your life the way it is. Do things you like to do. Play tennis, travel to places, do photography, meet new people. Always be positive. Remember, everything changes. Similarly, you have to change yourself, to survive. More than to survive, to be happy. Change is not defeat. Change reveals your strength._

_I wish you wake up happier than when you went to sleep. And I wish each new day in your life be happier than the last._

_With love,_

_Rafael_

Rafa places the pen inside the notepad and shuts it, so that when Sascha opens the book it would open on Rafa’s message.

When Rafa leaves the building it is past midnight. The sky is clear, and a lot of stars are visible despite the light pollution. Even those stars, in spite of their long lives compared to humans, are nothing but ripples in the ocean of time. One day they will return to their elements, and then ages later those elements will be incorporated into life. The cycle will continue – human emotions have no place in that cycle… _It is up to us to make our lives_ …as said the song that Mery was listening –

_No somos más  
Que un puñado de mar  
Una broma de Dios  
Un capricho del sol del jardín del cielo_

_No damos pie  
Entre tanto tic tac  
Entre tanto Big Bang  
Sólo un grano de sal en el mar del cielo_

_Calma  
Todo está en calma  
Deja que el beso dure  
Deja que el tiempo cure  
Deja que el alma  
Tenga la misma edad que la edad del cielo…_

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Roger actually visited Rafa during the Indian Wells tournament of 2019 to discuss matters related to the ATP Players' Council. Of course I don't know what they really talked about; however, they decided to return to the Council, this we all know.
> 
> (2) In reality Rafa did not visit Monte Carlo after his French Open win last year. It is just a plot device that I have imagined, which probably makes the fic a slight AU. Please suggest if I should mention that in the tags, or if it is alright this way.
> 
> (3) The exhibition match that Sascha refers took place in reality, in Acapulco, and Dominic actually said the words that Sascha says he said.
> 
> (4) The song mentioned in this fic is 'La edad del cielo' by the Uruguayan musician Jorge Drexler, from his album 'Frontera' (1999). (He is quite famous in Spain, so Mery thinks Rafa should have recognised his voice.)
> 
> (5) Finally, I do not think anyone mentioned in this fic is an unkind person in reality. The points of view expressed here are the points of view of the characters, not the real people. This is fiction. (I mention this here because in the past I received a lot of harsh comments on one of my fics.)


End file.
